Thoughts on Friday Night

Watching that sweet girl dance her heart out to worship music, her red hair and striped socks, just twirling, twirling. There was a spirit about her dance, like the Spirit had invaded her space, her body, movements that pleased God and all who watched. This little girl who prayed for us, thanked God for us and for cheese and shoes and her mom’s health. We sat in awe. She asked her mom to join the praise dance, but mom refused, maybe too aware of others eyes. Aren’t we all too aware of others eyes? Aren’t we all just girls that want to twirl and wish we weren’t so self aware? We sat in this circle in this restoration house. All feeling more restored once we left.

Some of us from the rich side of the tracks, some of us from the wrong side of the tracks, some of us with scars on our arms from the tracks of the poison, some of us with scars on our hearts from the tracks others had left. We sat, all different, with different clothes, some fancy, some borrowed, we sat, all different, with different stories, some quiet and sad, some death defying, but yet all the same. All women who knew brokenness and joy, who knew the Savior, who knew something holy was happening in our midst.

We told our stories, our times when we knew Jesus best. We listened to others stories, some who met him in a jail cell, some who met him at vacation bible school, some who met him strung out, overdosed in the back seat of a car, some in the dark night of depression, the dark night of the soul. But the same Jesus was reaching down into these different spaces loving no one any more or less, redeeming the rich and redeeming the poor, redeeming all of us from the poverty of our souls.

We are all on the wrong side of the tracks, even if we have designer clothes and gas to put in our car, even if our kids live in other places, even if we drink too much, yell too much, spend to much, even if we are covered in tattoos and our teeth have fallen out due to the meth we ate, we are all on the wrong side of the tracks if we haven’t met and fallen in love with the Savior, the Rescuer, our Jesus.

And He speaks to all these different hearts and sees us all as daughters, worthy of a crown, worthy of his death and his blood. These women, these broken bodies that hosted us, they spoke of Jesus like a friend, they know him in a way many will not because of the darkness they entertained and they darkness they danced with. The light that was stolen from them due to empty bank accounts and cruel men and forgetful parents. I’ve had light stolen from me too, yet my bank account is full and I’ve been loved by a gracious man and had loving parents.

How is it that we can all be lost no matter what side of the tracks we come from? How is it that a room of such different women can talk and cry and love and pray so hard in only a few hours of meeting each other?

Only by the power of the Holy Spirit. Only a God so good can move in a room and bring unity and laughter and grace when the food is bland and the heart is weary. Don’t you want to serve a God like that? A God that can remove boundaries and prejudice and assumption and judgement and bring love and peace and break chains and heal hearts.

He’s waiting on you, he’s drawing you in. No one loves like him, no one will scoop you up and hold your heart and heal your wounds and place you in a circle with women that are nothing like you yet, you are all the same because of the death of his son.

Because of the blood that was shed we become one, one body, one spirit, one heartbeat for the world. Why would you not join this bandwagon and say yes to the unity of the broken and beat up? Have you been broken or beat up? Are you from the wrong or right side of the tracks? Either way, you need him, you need a redeemer, a restorer, you need a reckoning, and a replacement for your tired and weary heart. You need a God that you can twirl for, be completely unaware for, isn’t it about time?

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